Sic Transit Gloria
by The Scene
Summary: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter have been friends for what seems like a lifetime, but they are about to have a lifealtering confrontation. About what? What else? A girl.


Disclaimer: The last I checked I was not J.K. Rowling. I do notown the wonderful universe of Harry Potter.

Author's Note:A random idea I had and put together in less that thirty minutes' time. Enjoy.

**"Sic Transit Gloria"**

"It's over," Ron sighed, slightly relieved, mostly disbelieving.

"No, it's not," his companion argued in a soft, cold voice he barely recognized as that of his best friend. Ron's head snapped around. Harry stood, looking down at the wand—now murder weapon—in his hand. He laughed bitterly as he tossed it carelessly to the ground. "It's never over."

"Merlin, Harry!" Ron shouted abruptly, voice dangerously close to breaking. "Why can't you be happy? Just once! You've never been! And it's not anyone's bloody fault. Not You-Know-Who's, not your aunt and uncle's… you could be happy if you only willed yourself to be! But you never did. Not even when you were with her—"

Harry sneered slightly, "And so you thought she deserved better, did you? That's why you took her from me?"

"You took her from me first!" Ron retaliated, stubbornly crossing his arms across his chest.

Harry laughed outright at this. "So that's what it's come down to, then, Ron? Schoolboy fights over a girl who doesn't want either of us any longer?" He smiled sadly. "There was a time when I would have thought we were better than this."

"So why aren't we? Why can't we forgive and forget?" Ron asked desperately.

"Because, Ron, _friends_ forgive and forget," he replied simply. "We're not friends. I don't think we have been for a long time."

"That's your own bloody doing!" Ron yelled. "If you didn't feel the need to separate yourself from everyone who cares about you then we wouldn't be—"

"I didn't want to separate myself from Hermione," he whispered. Ron grew quiet. He continued, "I loved her. I knew that as long as she was with me… I would be able to remember what I was fighting for. Why I wanted so badly for our side to prevail. When I was with her… I felt like I could do anything, like I was invincible. And I think, for a while, I was... But you tookthat feelingfrom me when you took her."

"Typical Harry Potter drama!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air in a gesture of hopelessness. "Make me out to be the bad guy, eh? Because you! You're always the shining beacon of honor, truth, and glory! Open your eyes, Harry! She wasn't happy with you! If you could have, just for a split second, thought of someone besides yourself, you would have se—"

Ron looked on, eyes wide in shock, at his best friend of over seven years crumpled to the floor, eerie green eyes behind wire-framed glasses staring lifelessly up at him.

Ron was paralyzed.

No, this surely hadn't happened. He, he was hallucinating… yes, that was it… he had been affected by some odd spell that a Death Eater had cast on him that made him confuse dream with reality… except…

He knew it was real.

He looked past the dead body of The Boy Who Lived and his unspoken question was answered.

A Death Eater—Avery, Ron vaguely recalled—lay sprawled on the floor, writhing about in obvious pain due to, most logically, a sure-to-be-fatal curse that one of the Order hurled at him in battle. His right arm was outstretched, brandishing a wand in its hand. Avery was laughing maniacally; he didn't seem to notice Ron. His eyes had a sort of far-away look about them; it surely wouldn't be long until he joined his victim in death. But Ron could sense he didn't care.

Ron walked forward a few paces, stepping carefully around Harry's body. He felt his eyes beginning to sting.

No. Now was not the time to mourn, he told himself.

He wasted no words on the cretin lying before him. Instead, he drew back his leg and, with all the force he could possibly muster, kicked the Death Eater in the gut. Avery cried out loudly and rolled over. He obviously noticed the pain, but he still didn't seem totake note ofRon himself. But Ron planned to remedy that. He kicked him even harder than before, this time in the back of his head.

And this time, Avery did not cry out.

And Ron felt no remorse.

He looked over at Harry. No, he corrected himself, it wasn't Harry. It was merely a body. Not the friend he had come to know—and love—over his childhood years. _Just a..._ he took a deep, shuddering breath... _a body._

Ron made a half-heartedattempt to choke back a sob, but he failed. Tears broke through. He fell clumsily to the floor and buried his face in his hands.

He cried for the friend he had lost, yes, but mostly he cried because he was jealous. Jealous of Avery.

The scum had gotten to die in peace, knowing he had done everything he had wanted toaccomplish in his pathetic little lifetime.

But Ron didn't have that luxury.

He never got to apologize.


End file.
